


the monster on the blade of her shoulder

by Lulu_The_Real_Slytherpuff



Series: Everything is not as it seems [5]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Monsters, Personification of mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 00:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lulu_The_Real_Slytherpuff/pseuds/Lulu_The_Real_Slytherpuff
Summary: Mitch is seven years old when he first sees the Monster.





	the monster on the blade of her shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, 
> 
> I wrote this last year as a folio piece for one of my classes which is why it's a shorty. This was heavily inspired by Carrie Hope Fletcher's novel 'All that she can see' (good read btw). 
> 
> This does imply suicide and deal with mental illness. Please click off if those things trigger you, mental health is more important than a story that I wrote months ago. 
> 
> With that said, enjoy :)

Mitch is seven years old when he first sees the Monster. The skeletal creature creeping up on his mother, and staring Mitch down. Its gaze an oppressive force that forces Mitch into submission as he watches it wrap its arms tightly around her. The Monster is tall, dark and looming over the back of his mother. Body hunched over, thin and bony, and eyes gleaming red. Its long, taloned fingers snake up behind his mother’s back, slowly creeping up around her throat, and squeezing tighter and tighter.

 

And his mother doesn’t move; doesn’t react to the creature looming over her shoulder. Instead she sits frozen, eyes staring at the stack of paper work in front of her, silent sobs causing her shoulders to shake ever so slightly. Mitch wants nothing more than to run over to her, and comfort her. Except the Monster refuses to leave her. It hasn’t left her side since his father walked in an hour earlier roughly slamming down the paperwork in front of her before leaving the house, banging the door so hard the house shook.

 

“Is this what you fucking wanted?” he’d said as he stomped his way out the door, barely sparing a glance at Mitch.

 

That was when the Monster appeared, growing larger and uglier as the hours wore on.

 

*

 

At seventeen, Mitch has grown used to the Monster that lingers next to his mother like a bodyguard every second of every minute in the day. He’s grown used to the way it curls up smaller on the sunny days; on the days where his mother smiles brighter than the sun, and her laugh sounds like a thousand firefly jars tinkling on a summer night. He knows that when the Monster curls up like that, his mother will get out of bed when the sun wakes up, skip into his bedroom, and loudly proclaim that they’ll have pancakes for breakfast.

 

“Blueberry and chocolate chip, Mitchy!” she’ll singsong in the kitchen, as she dances around the cupboards, and fridge pulling out different ingredients.

 

Then she’ll put on her favourite dress, sing as she changes the sheets on her bed for the first time in four weeks, brush her matted hair, and throw an old movie on the TV to play in the background.

 

It’s those days that Mitch loves the best, because the Monster is tucked away behind her ear, too weak to grow large and sneak up behind her. These days that are the rarest because more often than not the Monster is as large as the four poster bed that takes up the master bedroom on every other day. The happy, go-lucky mother that appears on those days is almost like an imposter compared to the pale, sickly woman who can barely force herself to get out of bed to brush her teeth, or make herself lunch – her chest pinned down by the Monster that perches on top of her like she is its bed.

 

On those days, the sky outside dims more than usual, and the Monster presses down on her, barely leaving her side. It grips her throat so tight that she struggles to breathe, scratches at her sides so hard that heavy tears leak from her eyes, and forces her hands to look at the old photo albums that have pictures of herself and Mitch alongside his father. Pictures of a bright, happy family that reduce his mother to broken woman whose sobs shake the whole bed.

 

*

 

It happens on a cold, winter’s night. Frost licking the windows and heavy gusts of wind rocking the house side to side. The Monster stands tall over his mother; whose frail body lies curled up in the bathroom corner. A glint of silver in one hand and a crimson glove on the other.

 

“Mum?” Mitch whispers, his body frozen in the doorway.

 

She doesn’t answer.

 

The crimson drips to floor in soft patters, that seem to echo around the quietness of the bathroom.

 

“Mum?” Mitch says again, and still she does not answer.

 

 The Monster turns its steely gaze to Mitch, and bares its teeth.

 

It does not speak but the message is clear.

 

_You’re next._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed :)
> 
> Make sure to kudos or comment - constructive criticism is always welcome and much appreciated (seriously, if you see a mistake or have any advice then speak up - I love it! and it's so helpful!) :)
> 
> I'm also taking prompts for hockey and other fandoms as well so make sure to send any through on my tumblr (@hit-em-with-the-fourr)
> 
> Thanks guys :)


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